


Ephemeral Glimpses

by caerynlae



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Depressing, F/M, Monitor, Speculation, crisis on infinite earths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 17:25:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18721609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caerynlae/pseuds/caerynlae
Summary: Dying would be the easy choice.The essence of heroism is to die so others can live.How wrong I was.Speculation of what happens to Oliver after Crisis On Infinite Earths and the deal he might have struck with the Monitor.





	Ephemeral Glimpses

**Author's Note:**

> Note: So I'm hoping Oliver won't actually die and there will be a happy ending. But somewhere along the way of trying to put such a scenario into words, my story turned into something that might actually be worse than dying. Which fits in the sense that I've been interested in writing something angsty and maybe disturbing. I have no clue if I succeeded but read at your own risk :) and I'd be happy to hear what you think!
> 
> This bit of writing came into being after thinking (too long) about what deal Oliver might have made with the Monitor that doesn’t involve him dying, because to be honest that seems like the ‘easiest’ option, considering that Oliver was willing several times over to sacrifice himself over the seasons. (Also the Monitor says ‘Self-sacrifice alone will not see you through this trial.’) 
> 
> There is angst, with a hint for a hope of a happy ending. There are some implications which might be disturbing.
> 
> Watch the Monitor scenes again here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LEThnfODxA4

Dying would be the easy choice.

_The essence of heroism is to die so others can live._

How wrong I was.

I can feel my mind drifting away from my designated task. A dangerous prospect considering the task at hand.

So I force myself back on track and time passes again in this indistinct manner where a minute could be an hour, which might be seconds and an eternity all at once.

A clock chimes in the background. It reminds me to take my mandatory break.

So I sit back, reluctant to leave the undistinguishable flow of time units behind. Yet there is not a second I want to waste.

Regrets.

I have so many of them.

But there is nothing that I regret more than leaving my family behind.

A wife, who has always stood beside me, even when times were darkest. A son, so grown up, but still figuring out who he wants to be. A daughter, so young, but so steadfast, stronger than she should have to be.

I should have been there for them, to cherish and to love them, support them in all their decisions.

But I left them behind. Left them to carry their burdens alone.

My back's cracking, I stretch and flip the book in front of me to the first one of my three favourite pages.

I see William. Struggling to connect with other people. Too scared that if he lets someone in, they will leave him and break his heart - the way I left him, the way, involuntarily, Samantha left him. So he self-sabotages every relationship that threatens to move too far, too close to his heart. At first glance, he is so different, but in this he is purely me. Instead he throws himself into his work, finding solace in his experiments. In this regard, he is very much like his step mother.

On the day I find out that his boyfriend cites William's abandonment issues as the main reason for their break up, my heart shatters into a million pieces.

My fingers gently caress the page. It never looks worn, no matter how many times I have touched it. With practiced ease I flip to the next page, just as my first tears begin to fall.

I see Felicity. Cut off from her home, her family, her fulfilled life. Instead, she is fighting every day to provide our daughter with a safe haven to grow up in, as peacefully as possible considering the circumstances, but so remote, so alone. She keeps her distance from our son, for his own protection. When it all gets too much, she breaks down in tears, in the dark of the night, after our daughter is fast asleep.

And now there is no one left to help her pick up the pieces. Because the one person, who promised to love, cherish and support her for the rest of their lives, is gone. Despite my promises, I'm yet again not there for her.

My eyes are clenched shut in despair. Once nimble fingers, now stiff, flip to the next page as tears freely cascade down my face.

I see Mia. Gone is the baby girl that loved to hold on to my thumb and gurgle at me happily. She has become so strong. But she hides her true feelings behind a facade of contempt and disdain. She molded her body into the perfect weapon, as I watch in awe as she takes down men twice her size. I couldn't be more proud. But, oh how I wish, she never would have had to learn to fight like me. To never have to experience the darkest parts of humanity. She is more similar to me than I ever wanted her to be.

There is no stopping the tears, combined with low-throated sobs from a disused voice joining the fray.

My right fist is closed so tightly, I know it will leave a mark, ready to join all the previous indentations left behind in the exact same spot by my fingernails. The repeated process over the years having added yet another scar to my never ending list.

The clock chimes again. It's time to get back to work.

Compartmentalizing, I shove all my emotions and feelings into their pre-designated box.

My focus once again on the task required of me.

Judge, jury and executioner.

Isn't that what I wanted to be once upon a time?

Time. What is time? The concept has lost its meaning years ago. Or was it months? Minutes? A blink of an eye?

Shaking myself, I remind myself to get back to work.

Myself. Of course myself. There is no one else here after all. Just myself.

_The essence of heroism is not as simple as dying._

I should amend that quote. If there is ever anyone there to listen to it, that is.

Absorbed back into the flow, I focus back on my task once more.

What remains in the back of my mind is a glimmer of hope, burning everlasting.

Hoping against hope that one day it would be over.

That one day I would have the honour and privilege to see my family with my own two eyes again.

To see more than ephemeral glimpses of their lives through the pages of an ancient book.

 

* * *

 

The next time my concentration is broken, it's not the accustomed chime, but a loud booming voice.

“Oliver Queen, you are hereby released from your duty.”


End file.
